


Rocking the Boat

by flyingcarpet



Category: Glee
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s02e10 A Very Glee Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-02
Updated: 2011-01-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 08:35:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/147381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingcarpet/pseuds/flyingcarpet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Driving all the way to Kings Island just to watch your crush sing is no big deal. Seriously. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rocking the Boat

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers through "A Very Glee Christmas" (aired episodes). Thanks to silveronthetree and spazzula for beta-reading and encouragement. <3.

There's no dressing room backstage at Kings Island, but there is a comfy green room and a couple of small bathrooms to change in. Blaine puts his coat and his messenger bag away in a locker and pulls out his phone, checks Facebook to pass the time before the evening show.

The other singers are hanging out, doing their own thing -- a couple of them are smoking cigarettes behind the stage, one is primping in the bathroom, somebody's talking on the phone about personal stuff that Blaine's pretending not to hear, and the last one rushes in the door complaining about traffic. It's already old and familiar, after four days of doing three shows a day. Blaine doesn't really know these people, although they're nice enough - college students on break, mostly.

He's not here to make friends; he has plenty of friends. The money's nice, but that's not why he's doing this, either. He's here to sing, to serenade a crowd and hear them applaud for him. Just for him, not for the navy and crimson of his uniform and two hundred years of tradition. He's here for the sound of his own voice floating out across the air, rising and falling on the wind. There are no eight-part harmonies, no side-to-side sway and snap choreography, just Blaine and a stage and a microphone.

It's the most wonderful time of the year.

\-----

It's not really like stalking, Kurt tells himself. He's just driving a couple hours to an outdoor amusement park in the dead of winter to watch his crush sing with some girl.

Okay, so maybe it is. Halfway to Kings Island, he pulls over on the side of the highway to text Blaine and let him know he's coming so he doesn't seem quite so crazy.

 _Driving up to Kings Island for a Christmas concert today. You?_

This is fine, this is normal. They're friends. And since he helped Blaine rehearse, it's only natural that he'd want to see the show, right? Right. Not stalkery at all. Friendly.

Kurt resolutely ignores the little voice in his head that says if that were true, he would've invited Mercedes to come along, and he probably wouldn't have spent two full hours styling his hair just so, ironing his Alexander McQueen sweater and draping his scarf. He just turns up the volume and sings along to "Poker Face."

\-----

Blaine's just drinking water and trying to conserve his voice when he gets the text. A big smile spreads across his face when he sees it, along with a warm feeling in his chest that's remarkably similar to the _thing_ he's been trying to ignore between them since he first met Kurt. He texts back right away, before he has to put his phone away because it's time to go on.

 _Meet me at the stage door after the show?_

He steps out onto the stage for "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas," and sweeps his eyes across the audience. He spots Kurt right away, sitting by himself a little apart from the rest of the audience, his back straight and elegant. He's wearing a checkered coat and a big scarf and he stands out in the crowd like no one else.

And if Blaine hams it up a little bit, smiles just a little bit wider and turns toward Kurt and sings "make the yuletide gay" right to him, there's nobody there who'll even notice.

\-----

From the stands, Kurt watches Blaine sing with a wide smile on his face. At Dalton, he's been trying not to watch Blaine too closely, not to gaze at him too openly, so he won't give away his hopeless crush. Out here in the stands, in a sea of people who are watching the show, it's different. Kurt can watch as much as he likes.

Kurt's never seen Blaine sing out of his uniform, and even in the dorms he usually wears his big blue hoodie with the Dalton tiger on the front. Today he's dressed in soft jeans and a dark green sweater, and he looks more comfortable on the stage than Kurt's ever seen him.

At school, wrapped in that starched blazer, there are times when Blaine can seem so restrained, so buttoned-down, that Kurt hardly recognizes the funny, flirty boy who first serenaded him. But now, that boy is back, and he's no longer another navy blazer in a long line of them. He owns that stage, and when he turns toward stage right, Kurt could swear that Blaine is singing right to him.

When Blaine sings with the Warblers, his voice blends with theirs, lifts above them and projects ahead of them -- but he's still one of them. Here, he's alone onstage, and the song that soars out across the audience is his alone. Kurt clasps his hands across his knee and drinks in the sound of Blaine's voice, pure and undiluted. It's a beautiful sound.

Hearing that sound, watching Blaine so comfortable up there, Kurt yearns even more for a chance to open his mouth and pour out a song of his own. He may not have a stage to himself, but he does have an opportunity in the Warblers, imperfect though they may be. So his first audition wasn't successful, so what? He'll just have to try out again. This time, he'll choose the perfect song.

\-----

At the end of the show, there's a big group number and then the spotlights go out and the crowd applauds, and some little kids ask for autographs. It would all be stupid if Blaine wasn't still riding high on the sheer joy of singing his heart out.

When he finally gets backstage, he strips out of his sweater and goes to wash his face. It might be below freezing at Christmastime in Ohio, but singing and dancing under a spotlight still leaves a film of sweat on his forehead, and he doesn't want to go meet Kurt looking like this. Luckily, he brought some other clothes with him, although he has no idea if they'll be up to Kurt's high fashion standards.

Blaine can remember when he started at Dalton, how it felt to finally be in a place where he didn't have to be afraid all the time. His muscles stayed tense for the entire first week, until it finally sunk in that he didn't have to search the crowd for potential threats all the time. Or ever. For years, he'd been threatened and harassed because he was different, because he stuck out. Now suddenly, fitting in was as simple as slipping into a blazer. After a whole semester of wearing the same thing every day, it feels strange to be choosing his own wardrobe again.

"Blaine, you want dinner?" one of the other singers calls through the bathroom door. "We're gonna grab some burgers downtown."

"No thanks," he calls back. "I'm meeting a friend -- I'll see you tomorrow."

\-----

Kurt waits in the stands as the crowd filters out of the theater, watching with amusement as Blaine and the other singers sign autographs for some little kids. Blaine looks relaxed and happy, and the smile on his face is so bright that Kurt can hardly see anything else at all.

When he's finally gone from the stage, and the stands are empty, Kurt forces himself to move. He walks around to the side of the theater, but there's no door there, so he doubles back and tries the other side of the building. There's a plain metal door with a plaque that says _Employees Only_ , and he tucks his hands into the pockets of his fabulous checkered coat and settles in to wait.

After a few minutes, the door flies open and a group of talking, laughing people spills out. Kurt recognizes some of the other singers from the show, including the blonde girl who'd sung his part in "Baby It's Cold Outside." (He thinks of it that way even though he knows that in actuality, she was Blaine's real duet partner and his was just a rehearsal.)

"Oh, hey," the blonde says, and she must be speaking to Kurt because he's the only one there. "You Blaine's friend?"

"Yes," Kurt says. "Is he--"

"Yep. Why don't you wait inside? It's not so cold in there."

"Thanks." Kurt's grateful, because it's below freezing out there, and the cold is awfully drying even if it does give his face a flatteringly rosy look.

"You're welcome," she says, and her smile is genuine, although when they turn and walk away Kurt can hear her voice saying "I told you so," and her friends laughing. He tries not to read too much into it.

He's in a pretty plain room, just a few battered old couches and tables, with posters on the walls advertising events at Kings Island that all happened at least twelve years ago.

A door swings open behind him and Kurt turns at the sound, and there's Blaine, wearing a soft, clingy pair of jeans and nothing else.

"Oh, hi," Blaine says, just as Kurt is trying to remember how to speak. There's just so much skin, something Kurt has tried not to think about with wildly varying degrees of success, and then the little trail of hair below his belly button, and _oh God, nipples_.

"Sorry," Kurt finally chokes out and turns away, as much to hide his own blushing face as to give Blaine some privacy. "You're, uh, the other singers let me in."

"No problem. Let me just get dressed and then we can go." He sounds like it's really nothing, like he's half-undressed in front of other boys all the time, and with that thought Kurt doesn't know whether to feel jealous or turned on.

He studies one of the faded posters on the wall, advertising a roller coaster so rickety even the artist's rendering looks unsafe, until he hears a locker door slam. He is absolutely not in any way memorizing the shape of Blaine's bare shoulders or the subtle pattern of his chest hair. That would be wildly inappropriate. They're friends, he reminds himself. Just friends. He's shared a dressing room with Mercedes when times were tight, and goodness knows Santana and Brittany don't hesitate to change in front of him.

"Let me just grab my jacket--" Blaine says, and Kurt turns carefully, ready to bolt at a moment's notice.

To Kurt's immense relief and eternal disappointment, Blaine is no longer half-naked. Instead, he looks quite presentable in his jeans and a gray sweater with an abstract pattern. His hair is rumpled and kind of curly, and his eyes look like antique gold. He's absolutely gorgeous, which is just cruel and unfair in this bad light.

"You're the arbiter of fashion," Blaine says with a smile. "How do I look?"

 _Lickable_ is the first word that springs to mind, but thankfully Kurt manages to hold that one back. "Great," he says instead, which is the understatement of the year, and his voice only cracks a little. "Is that Marc Jacobs?"

"Last year." Blaine shrugs and reaches for his coat.

"I hardly recognized you onstage without your uniform," Kurt says. "It was strange to see you sing without it." He's going for casual, just trying to make small talk, but it's true. The blue and red blazer is practically a part of Blaine, so much so that seeing him without it now is weirdly intimate.

"It feels a little strange," Blaine agrees. "Good, but strange. Once in a while I forget that I can actually wear other clothes, you know?"

"No, not at all," Kurt responds immediately, as they step out into the cold air and the park's bustling crowds. He's made the choice to wear that uniform for the sake of security, but it's a sacrifice every day.

\-----

Blaine glances over at Kurt as they leave the green room, feeling stupid for even asking the question. Blaine loves the safety of the uniform, the way it wraps him in Dalton and instantly makes him a part of that tradition. With Kurt, it's different. Even when he wears the same uniform, there are always little differences that set Kurt apart - that perfect posture, the way he styles his hair just-so, a flair for accessories. In his own clothes, he looks so polished and put-together, every piece carefully selected for maximum impact. It's working, too -- he stands out from the crowd, one bold checkered coat in a sea of black and gray. It's enough to make Blaine regret his simple navy peacoat. He wanted something classic and versatile, but next to Kurt he feels boring and plain.

They walk down the bustling aisle of the midway, full of other kids their age, roaming in packs or walking hand-in-hand. Blaine thinks about grabbing Kurt's hand like he did that first day, clasping their fingers together and showing off a little, laying a claim in front of all these people. Kurt has his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat, though: out of reach. It's probably not a good idea, anyway. Kurt needs his space.

They're debating the merits of deep-fried Twinkies ("final proof that there is no God") when Kurt says, "So I was thinking of trying out for a solo again. For the Warblers' Spring concert."

Blaine's not surprised to hear it. He's known how badly Kurt wanted a solo since he first joined the club. "That's great," Blaine tells him. He'll need to be invited first, but that shouldn't be a problem. The council knows he has an amazing voice, and now that he's settled in a little more...

"I know I didn't choose the right song last time." He's not wrong, but the thought still hurts Blaine a little. He wakes up sometimes in the night and hears Kurt's voice ringing in his memory, clear and beautiful as a bell: _I kept my promise, don't keep your distance_. "What did you sing, when you tried out for your first solo?"

Blaine can remember exactly the way he felt at that moment, the way his palms were sweaty and the blazer still felt stiff and awkward across his shoulders, the way he had to fight to keep his breathing even enough to sing. His song had been a safe choice, an easy choice, something he'd known the Warblers would like.

"'I'm Yours,'" he says. Kurt turns to him with those blue eyes wide and a pink flush in his cheeks, and Blaine wishes fiercely that he wasn't such a gentleman. "By Jason Mraz, you know? The Warblers love their top forty, and that song was really big last year."

"Right," Kurt says hurriedly, and looks away.

Kurt's voice -- his gorgeous, wonderful voice -- would never work with Jason Mraz, and they both know it. "I kind of played it safe," Blaine says, and maybe he's still a little bitter about that, because it creeps into his tone. "I should've done something different, but I didn't want to rock the boat."

The stars are shining overhead, the lights of the midway are burning brightly all around them, and Kurt's face is shining and he has no idea how beautiful he looks right now -- Blaine can't hold back the song that bubbles up through his lips. He does a little hop-step and begins to sing.

 _"And the people all said sit down, sit down you're rocking the boat.  
Or the devil will drag you under, by the sharp lapels of your checkered coat--" _

Reaching out, he tweaks the wide lapel of Kurt's coat at that, mimicking the way he'd straightened his jacket that first day, when he'd been full of starry-eyed infatuation. That had been before he'd really talked to Kurt, before he knew just how alone Kurt was, how many real problems he was facing.

 _"Sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down. Sit down you're rocking the boat."_

Kurt smiles happily at Blaine and does a little jazz-hands move that has Blaine laughing in the middle of the song, and then takes over on the next verse.

 _"For the people all said beware, you're on a heavenly trip."_

That first day they'd met, Blaine had known Kurt was special, but he hadn't known just how amazing he was, how strong he could be.

 _"The people all said beware, beware you'll scuttle the ship."_

Together they sing the refrain, their voices rising together as people walking by stop and stare. Blaine knows they sound amazing together, their voices the perfect complement to one another.

 _"Sit down, sit down, sit down, sit down. Sit down you're rocking the boat."_

By the time they finish, Blaine's face aches from smiling, but there's an answering ache somewhere inside his chest. Kurt looks flushed and unrestrainedly happy in a way that he hardly ever does at Dalton, and it's a beautiful sight. A few of the passers-by give them a round of applause, and Blaine takes a dramatic bow.

\-----

"I love that song," Kurt says, trying to catch his breath. The carnival booths around them are worn down around the edges, and everything smells like fried food, and he can't even work up the courage to kiss Blaine, but it's a pretty perfect moment anyway.

"I don't know if I can do what you did," Kurt admits, looking away from Blaine and watching the lights of the Ferris wheel spin against the dark winter sky. "It's kind of hard to blend in when you're the only countertenor in a group full of tenors and baritones. As much as I love _Guys and Dolls_ , I'm probably doomed to be in the chorus line forever."

"There's nothing wrong with the chorus line," Blaine says, and Kurt's heart sinks for a moment, even as he turns back to face him. "But it's for people who blend in, who fit in the group." Blaine is so focused on Kurt, his eyes never leaving Kurt's own, that Kurt feels like they're completely alone even in this swarm of humanity. He couldn't look away if he wanted to. "Just-- just look at you. You couldn't blend in if you tried." He waves at Kurt's outfit with one hand. These are all things that Kurt's heard before, but they never sounded like _compliments_ before.

Kurt tries to think about _Guys and Dolls_ , and whether or not things worked out for Nicely-Nicely after he sang that about rocking the boat, but it's hard to think about Broadway when he has Blaine so close to him and smelling so good and--

Blaine is the first to look away, breaking the tension. "You're a star," he says. "You just need to find the right song that'll show that to the Warblers."

\-----

Feeling a little awkward, like maybe he's said too much or given too much away, Blaine looks around for a distraction. All up and down the midway are booths with silly carnival games, offering sickly fish and brightly colored stuffed animals as prizes. A part of him wants to win some ridiculously oversized stuffed rabbit for Kurt. It's stupid, sure, but it's probably less stupid than the vast majority of things he's imagined doing for or _to_ Kurt. He's been denying his instincts when it comes to Kurt for so long that it's like this one slips through the net.

"Ring toss?" he asks.

"Please, all those games are totally rigged," Kurt says dismissively, fixing his hair, which looked perfect to begin with.

Then there's a moment where Kurt stops and looks right at Blaine, as if he's trying to figure him out. Blaine's not sure whether that would be a good thing or not, but a moment later Kurt's linking their arms together and steering him toward the rides. "Ferris wheel," he announces.

Standing in line for the Ferris wheel, Blaine tries to think of something to say that won't give away all the different things he's thinking, mostly having to do with the way Kurt's arm is still linked in his, or the fact that the whole left side of his body feels warm where it's pressed against Kurt, even though it's impossible to feel body heat through all they layers of winter outerwear they both have on.

He's still trying to think of ideas when Kurt says, "So is this something you do every year? Sing here?"

"Last year it was a mall in Columbus." Blaine shrugs. "I just like to sing on my own sometimes, you know?"

"I thought you loved the Warblers," Kurt says, sounding surprised.

"I do," Blaine says, feeling a little bit disloyal for even having this conversation. He wants to explain, though, wants Kurt to get this about him. "The Warblers are great at what they do, but with the group, everything has to be so rehearsed and perfect, you know? There are only so many songs that work in eight-part harmony."

"Yeah," Kurt says, looking thoughtful. Blaine replays what he just said in his head and could seriously kick himself. He really didn't mean to turn this into another Why Your Audition Piece Was A Bad Choice speech, even if it's true that "Don't Cry for Me, Argentina" could never work for the Warblers.

"When I sing by myself, I can improvise more, that's all," Blaine tries to explain. There's a lot more to it than that, but he can't tell Kurt that sometimes he hates singing something that's taken weeks of arrangements and practices to put together, something that's been chosen by freakin' committee.

"No, I get it," Kurt says, and smiles at Blaine. He's really very close, standing like this, and Blaine wants to pull away and snuggle closer at the same time, which is kind of ridiculous. He reminds himself of how Kurt looked on the stairs at McKinley the day they'd confronted Karofsky, of how fragile and freaked out he'd looked. _Kurt needs a friend_ , he reminds himself. _Give him space._

\-----

Kurt lets go of Blaine's arm as they climb into the empty seat at the bottom of the Ferris wheel, and Blaine scoots over to the other side of the bench. As he slides in next to him and the seat starts to move, Kurt slips his hand into his jacket pocket and touches his phone.

 _Courage_ , he reminds himself.

Just a couple of weeks ago he'd been absolutely certain that Blaine wasn't interested in him. But tonight, seeing Blaine so relaxed and comfortable, singing show tunes to him in the middle of a carnival with half of Ohio watching... something's different tonight. Kurt's never been too good at reading the signs, but to be fair, he's never actually had any real signs to read before. He's pretty sure -- okay, maybe kind of sure -- that Blaine's been sending him signs for a while now, and he just couldn't see them when there were all those other things in the way: bullies and Warblers and matching blazers and Sectionals.

Tonight, none of those things matter. Tonight, it's just two boys and a Ferris wheel.

They rise through the air slowly. In the distance are snowy fields and tiny houses decked with Christmas lights, burning brightly against the dark horizon. Kurt looks at it all without really seeing. Back at home, there's a Vivienne Westwood coat wrapped up under the tree for him -- it's a gift from his dad, but one that Kurt picked out, drove to Chicago to find, and finally wrapped for himself. He's been craving that coat for months, but there's something he wants even more. Maybe it's time he went out and got it.

At the top of the wheel they pause in place, and Blaine leans forward a little bit, looking out. "I think I can see my house from here," he says, smiling. He turns toward Kurt as if he's about to say something else, but he stops when Kurt moves closer. He's not going to force this on Blaine, after what happened with Karofsky he doesn't think he could. But he has to take the chance.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a little cloud of icy vapor, and then he leans close and presses his hand to the side of Blaine's face.

"I'd really like to kiss you now," he says softly.

Blaine's eyes get very big. "Are you sure?" he asks, as if there's some kind of horrible downside Kurt hasn't considered. It's quite possibly the stupidest question Kurt's ever been asked, and he hangs out with Brittany Pierce on a regular basis.

"Are you kidding?" Kurt says, and then he's done talking, because he's pressing his lips to Blaine's and Blaine is humming in his throat and kissing him back. He feels a little bit like the entire world is spinning around him and he's falling out of the sky, but he chalks that up to the Ferris wheel.

When he pulls back, they're in the exact same spot, rocking in place at the top of the Ferris wheel, looking out over the snowy landscape of western Ohio.

"Merry Christmas?" he says, and he's really, really hoping that was okay and not totally out of line.

"Merry Christmas, Kurt," Blaine says. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip and then he leans closer for another kiss -- Kurt's third-ever kiss with a boy, not that he's counting. Blaine's lips are warm next to the cold air, and just the littlest bit rough, and it's nothing at all like kissing a girl because Kurt can feel a tingle right down to his toes.

This time, they don't pull apart until the wheel stops and the bar lifts and they're confronted with a line of people waiting for their seat. Blaine takes Kurt's hand as they leave the wheel, and he keeps a tight grip on it for the rest of the night.

Kurt's so happy he feels like he could sing.


End file.
